


Weakness

by thedoobly_doo



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gideon is a bundle of issues, Gideon wasn't deaged, I love beating this boy up and I'm refuse to apologize, Mentions of the Black Fairy, Pneumonia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoobly_doo/pseuds/thedoobly_doo
Summary: Set in an AU where Gideon wasn't de-aged at the end of season 6. Gideon gets sick and tries to hide it from his parents.





	Weakness

The ringing sound of Mother’s laughter from the kitchen roused Gideon from a deep sleep. The sun was shining in his bedroom - too brightly, in his opinion - and based on the shadows on the wall, it had clearly been up for a while already. The green numbers on the clock by his bed showed that it was nearly 9 AM already, hours past when he would normally be awake. **  
**

He groaned and rolled over, tucking the comforter closer around him. He shivered slightly - despite the fact that it was August in this land his father called Maine, he was freezing. He tucked his fists into his chest and let his eyes slip closed, ignoring the aching in his body.  _At least it’s Sunday_ , he thought to himself,  _Mother and Father won’t think twice about me sleeping in._

The breeze rolled in through his open window, making him tuck into his blanket even further, and the smell of fish turned his stomach. The smell of coffee and eggs drifted up the stairs, leaving him unable to sleep. With a sigh and a deep cough, Gideon rolled out of bed, swallowing thickly as the room seemed to sway. As soon as it stopped and he seemed to get his bearings, he made his slow way over to the closet, leaning against the cool wood as he pulled out a soft gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Gideon frowned and cursed as he nearly tripped getting his pants on, barely catching himself on the footboard of his bed. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to ignore his roiling stomach and the strange tightness in his chest as he took a deep breath in. The chill had disappeared, leaving him fairly overheated. Sweat beaded on his hairline and rolled down his back, leaving his previously-clean t-shirt clinging to him uncomfortably.

The smell of cooking meat came up the stairs, making his stomach give a another traitorous lurch. Mother called him soon after, surely wondering why he hadn’t come down for breakfast yet. “I’m coming, Mother!” He yelled back, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice. He coughed into his elbow, making his throat even more sore and leaving him panting for breath when it was finally over. He settled on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands as the room rocked again. That settled it - he was definitely ill.

The visage of Moth …  _The Black Fairy_  flashed through his mind. She was shouting silently, but he could still hear the hateful words - about how weak he was, how pathetic, how useless, how it was no wonder that his parents had abandoned him …

_No._  Gideon pushed the dark thoughts away. She had kidnapped him ; his parents hadn’t abandoned him. He was wanted and loved. Mother and Father had welcomed him back with open arms, giving him so much love, so much that he thought he might drown in it. Nothing she said was true. But still her words kept picking at his mind.

He remembered being ill before, when he was smaller. He had tried, tried so hard to hide it from her, afraid of what she would do to him if he showed any sign of weakness. Of course, she had found out anyway, and after yelling at him about he couldn’t do anything right, how he was going to get everyone sick and infect them all with his weakness, she had dragged him out the castle doors, leaving him in the cold, unforgiving landscape of the Dark Realm. He had begged and cried until his voice gave out, and after hours passed and it was clear she had abandoned him, he curled up under the overhang and passed out.

He banished the memory away, back to the dark corner of his mind where all memories of that time resided. Of course, his parents wouldn’t do that. They loved him, and deep down, he had always known the Black Fairy had never cared for him, not even a little. Still the memory kept picking at him, making him doubt himself. Surely they wouldn’t want his illness in the house either. He would be useless for the length of his weakness, unable to move, unable to do anything to pay back the massive debt he owed them. They deserved a son who could help them. Even worse, his illness could spread to them, leaving the whole family weak, vulnerable to outside evils.

No. There were things he had to do, responsibilities to himself and his parents to be taken care of. He would never be what the Black Fairy told him he was always would be. Weak. He was just going to have to get better, before his parents caught on to his weakness.

He stumbled into the bathroom, inspecting his appearance in the mirror critically. He looked  _terrible_. There was no way they wouldn’t notice. His skin was pallid and coated in a sheen of sweat - already his shirt was clinging to him despite the ‘air conditioning’ in the house. A crease had formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes were sunken in and rimmed with dark circles. And that was just his appearance - he could barely move without his muscles aching, swallowing was painful, and his cough didn’t even sound human, resonating from his chest and bringing up gods-knew-what.

“Gid, are you coming? Your father’s going to eat it all!” His mother called again, followed by an indignant protest from his father.

“Coming!” He shouted back. This had to go away  _now_  - they were going to get suspicious if he didn’t come down within the next few minutes. Mother would come up looking for him, and then she would see how weak he was. He couldn’t let her see him like this, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face. He could cast a glamour, of course, but that would only hide the appearance (plus his mother might not notice, but his father definitely would. There was only so much magic could hide convincingly).

Then he thought of it. Under his bed, there was a small chest of potions the Black Fairy had sent to this realm with him. He was under no illusion that it was because she cared for him - no, she wanted him to succeed in his mission, nothing more. He knelt down, pulling the chest out, and rifled through the bottles. There, at the back, was a healing potion. It was only good for magical injuries, the way she made it, but it would have to do the trick. Gideon knew this was breaking a promise made to his parents and that they would be disappointed if, no,  _when_  they found out, but he pushed the guilt away and quickly swallowed half of it. He pulled on a pair of socks before going down the stairs.

He could feel the warmth blooming and spreading through his body as he walked through the house, and by the time he had entered the kitchen, Gideon knew he looked well enough to pass muster. “Good morning, sweetheart!” Mother said, jumping up onto her toes to hug him tightly. His father nodded to him, smiling, before his eyes went back to the newspaper. “Come, eat. There’s plenty here.”

He smiled thinly as she nearly pushed him into a seat at the counter, trying to ignore his rolling stomach. Gideon picked at the plate Mother set in front of him, hoping that if he stayed quiet, Mother and Father would just go back to whatever conversation they were having before he came down. Alas, it was not to be.

Mother pressed a hand to the back of his head as she sat down next to him, sipping tea from her cup. “Did you sleep well, Gid? I was a bit surprised you slept in so late.” She petted his hair, a concerned look on her face - perhaps he wasn’t fooling them as well as he thought. He could feel his father’s eyes on him over the paper, and took a hasty sip of the tea in front of him, wincing as it scorched his raw throat.

He bit back the apology that came to his lips - Dr. Hopper had insisted he get out of the habit of apologizing for everything he perceived (or the Black Fairy drilled into him) as wrong. “I slept alright. I was just very tired, I guess.” Gideon answered, shoveling some more eggs into his mouth hastily to prevent more questioning. Already he could feel the sweat starting to form on his back again, beading on his hairline and disappearing under the neck of his shirt. He could feel Mother watching him, and turned to look at her, smiling softly as she pressed a kiss to his forehead before getting up. “Anything interesting in the news today?”

“Nothing of importance. Sundays are always slow news days around here.” His father answered. “Are you still reading the books the fairies gave you yesterday, or are you already finished?” He asked with a grin, and Gideon couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him, tightening his chest and giving him an almost-unbearable need to cough.

“I don’t read that fast, Father.” Gideon protested. “I’m through a lot of it though - their perspective on magic fascinates me. It’s very ...unique.”

“In what way?” Father asked, taking a sip of his tea and watching him expectantly.

“They don’t see magic as a tool, but as a way of life. It just … is. No good, no evil, just … there.” He explained. Gideon could tell his voice was beginning to sound strained and hoarse, and a cough still lingered in his throat, irritating his throat further. He took another gulp of his tea, cursing himself for not just taking the whole of the potion and being done with it. Though, given it was his only one, and he hadn’t possessed the gift for potion-making (and was unable to heal himself thanks to the Black Fairy’s magic), perhaps it was better he had saved the rest for another time. He wasn’t that ill anyway - Gideon had no doubt this would be gone by the morning.

Mother took pity on him, and scolded Father good-naturedly. “Rumple, let him eat. You can talk more about magic later when you’ve both had breakfast.” His father harrumphed, pressing a kiss to his mother’s knuckles as she passed. Gideon returned to picking at his food - the room was beginning to sway again, and his stomach along with it. They passed the meal in a strained silence ; he could feel their eyes on him as his plate remained barely touched.

Mother broke the silence first. “Gideon, are you sure you’re alright, sweetie? You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

Gideon looked up, smiling thinly. “Just lost in thought, I guess.” To prove his point, he shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth, praying silently to every god he could think of that he would keep it all down for now. Thankfully, his stomach held on, no doubt thanks to the healing potion.

“Get that from your mother, I suppose.” Father said, laughing as Mother smacked him on the shoulder. Gideon smiled as she pressed a kiss to his father’s forehead before moving to gather the breakfast dishes. The eggs seemed more and more unappetizing the more he ate, and the sausage had been making his stomach roll since he smelled it cooking. He nursed his tea, ignoring the half-full plate until Mother took it away with a sigh.

His father spoke again, laying the paper to the side. “If you’re done eating, I could use your assistance on a potion downstairs. The Charmings thought it might be wise to have a stash of healing potions on hand for magical mishaps.”

Gideon swallowed the last dregs of his tea painfully before saying, “I’d be happy to. I’m not adept at potion-making, but no time like the present to learn.” He cleared his throat, wincing as it came out more like a cough than he intended.

His father eyed him critically, and just when he thought his cover was blown, Mother interrupted, hands on her hips. “Rumple, you told me you needed something from the shop first, and I need to go to the market. Let Gideon get a shower and then you can hole up in the basement.” She looked over to him, eyes softening. “Unless of course, you would rather come with us, get some fresh air since you didn’t run this morning.”

_Finally_. This was his chance. They were leaving, he could get a shower, and maybe sneak down to his father’s herb stores and make another healing potion if he still had time. “No, I’ll go for a run later. I’d like to finish the book I’m on now before you and Father get back.” His voice was getting hoarser by the second, and now he knew he wasn’t imagining the worried looks they were both giving him.

“As long as you’re sure.” Mother said slowly, her eyebrow raising when he simply smiled, not trusting his voice. He made another cup of tea as they both went upstairs, Mother pressing another kiss to his forehead as she passed him. “You feel hot.” She said.

“It’s August. It is hot.” He answered, and she frowned but said nothing. She went upstairs to join Father in getting ready and he settled down on the couch with his cup of tea, flipping through the book left on the end table until he got to where he had left off. A few minutes later, he heard them leave, exchanging words in hurried whispers as the front door closed behind them.

As soon as he heard the door lock, he rushed off the couch and into the bathroom, barely making it the toilet before his breakfast came right back. He heaved, his stomach squeezing out the little he had managed to choke down. Coughs ripped themselves out of his throat as his stomach kept heaving, leaving him breathless and his whole torso sore. Sweat was running in rivulets off his body, dripping out of his hair and into the toilet.

Finally, the heaving ended, leaving his throat, mouth, and nose burning. He breathed heavily, harsh coughing fits still coming sporadically, leaving his chest tight and sore. He leaned against the corner, shivering violently. It was so cold in here. Gideon crossed his arms over his sore stomach, and let his eyes slipped closed. He was just so tired … surely a few minutes rest wouldn’t hurt. If he knew Mother well enough, the trip to the market would take longer than either of them expected. He could rest for a few minutes and still have time to have a shower and the other half of his healing potion before they came back.

_Just a couple minutes …_  Gideon thought as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

An irritating steady beep is what woke him first. Gideon tried to reach up and itch at his nose, only to feel a hard, cool … thing covering his mouth and nose, forcing dry, cool air down his throat. His eyes shot open, only to realize he was alone in a strange room, with tubes sticking out of his arms and the thing over his face. What time was it?

It was dark outside as he turned to the window, and Gideon panicked as he tried to remember how much time had passed and how he’d gotten to wherever he was at the moment. A cough rattled through his chest, making the panic increase as he couldn’t catch his breath. The beeping got faster as he struggled to sit up - the thick fluid in the back of his throat wouldn’t come out while he was laying down.

The bed began to rise, pushing his torso up, and he opened his watering eyes to see a handsome man with a shock of red hair at his bedside, his hands on his back to help him sit up even further. He quickly pulled the mask off his face and stuck a bowl under his mouth, rubbing his back as the coughs ripped out of him, seeming like they would never end. A pain like fire ripped through him, and he desperately gasped for air whenever he got a chance, trying to put the fire out and keep it from burning him alive. His sweaty hands slipped on the rails, his arms shaking as he tried to keep himself up.

Finally, they subsided as he gave a final shuddering cough, bringing up a stringy green liquid into the bowl under his mouth. He settled back against the bed, groaning as every breath seemed to stoke the fire in his chest, making more sweat bloom across his body. The nurse was about to fit the mask back over his face when he stopped him and asked in a gravelly, hoarse voice, “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“I was just about to tell you. You need to put this mask back on first.” He answered in a thick Irish brogue. He sighed and let him fit the mask back over his face, and once he seemed satisfied by its position, he continued. “I’m Dian, one of the nurses on this floor. You’re at Storybrooke Hospital, and you’re going to be just fine, Mr. Gold. Dr. Whale will come in soon and explain it all.”

Gideon gestured to the mask, and Dian let out a melodic laugh, answering, “You’re pretty sick. The mask is there to give you some more oxygen - one of your lungs is pretty impacted. Like I said, Dr. Whale will be by soon to explain everything to you.”

“Are my parents here? Where did they go?” He asked. Dian bit his lip as he looked at the beeping machine above his head, and he felt his heart sink. They had abandoned him here - he, no,  _she_ , was right all along. They didn’t want him if he was weak. He was useless to them now. Tears leaked out from under his eyelids, slipping down the side of his face.  _At least they took me somewhere I can get better before they left_ , he reasoned, weakly wiping the tears off his face, not wanting to appear more weak than he already was. It wouldn’t do him any good to cry now, he had learned this lesson before.

“Gideon!” Mother called, rushing in the room and hugging him fiercely, pressing her lips to every part of his face she could. He felt warm water dripping on his face, and realized she was crying. Her hands ran over and over through his hair, and he couldn’t hold back the little sob from escaping. They were here. They hadn’t left him alone. They still wanted him.

More and more tears streamed down his face as Mother gave him some room, wiping his face with a cool cloth, vanishing the salty streaks faster than they seemed to appear. Father stood in the doorway, and he made hesitant eye contact with both of them, saying, “Mama. Papa.”

Mother hiccupped a laugh, pressing another kiss to his forehead and pushing his hair away from his face before settling back in her chair. Father sat down in the chair beside her, placing one hand on his arm and rubbing slightly. “You gave us a good fright, son.” He said, the look in his eyes contradicting the jovial tone in his face.

Gideon looked down, picking at the thin white sheet covering him. “I didn’t intend to.” He said lowly.

“Oh, we know, sweetheart,” Mother said, “but why didn’t you just tell us you weren’t feeling well?”

He shrugged before devolving into another coughing fit, tears forced out of his eyes as it kept going on and on. He grabbed at his chest, hoping that maybe if he pressed hard enough, his lungs would stop feeling like they were trying come out his nose. Gideon felt a warm hand on his back, rubbing up and down slowly, and he gasped and gulped for air as the fit finally ended, leaving him sweaty and hot with a string of thick green liquid smeared inside of the mask. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the pillows, very much ready to sleep for hours.

Once he got his breath back, he asked, “What happened? How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?” Mother asked, and Gideon tried to piece everything together. He remembered his mother shaking him, and being doused with tepid water. He remembered people shouting over him, poking at him, moving him around like he was nothing but a doll. But everything had a sort of watery quality, like he was viewing his memories through a pond disturbed by torrential rain.

“It’s all a bit … hazy.” He answered, and Mother pressed a hand to his forehead, her fingers running through the hair hanging in his face, her lips pressed together tightly.

“We came back from the market about an hour later to you passed out in the bathroom.” Father answered, placing a hand on Mother’s back. “You were covered in sweat and holding such a high temperature that we were afraid you’d damage your brain. Your mother called the ambulance, and they brought you here hours ago. They had only just let us up to see you when we came in.” In direct opposition to his mother’s bent posture, his father sat ramrod straight, his voice tight and his eyes burning with a fire that made Gideon’s heart sink.

A light tapping on the door interrupted them, and Gideon let out a low sigh of relief. A man with striking blond hair and a white coat came in, pulling a stool over to the bed. His mother and father got up, moving to the window and exchanging words he couldn’t hear, though judging by his mother’s crossed arms, they couldn’t be good. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m Doctor Whale.”

Gideon nodded vacantly, his eyes still on his mother and father, the former of which gave him a thin smile when she noticed him watching. His father began talking again, and Gideon’s fingers twitched nervously, twisting in the sheets. His attention was called back to Dr. Whale when he said. “How are you feeling, Mr. Gold?”

“Awful.” Gideon deadpanned, and Whale chuckled slightly, his eyes darting from the monitor back to his face.

“At least you’re being honest now.” His father said, and Mother gave him a sharp look, totally at odds with her hand rubbing his father’s shoulder in a comforting rhythm. Gideon swallowed thickly and looked back to Whale, unable to bear the silent disappointment.

“I can imagine so. You’re in pretty rough shape.” Whale joked, and when that failed to cause a smile, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let’s just see how those lungs are doing.” Whale clamped a small white clip onto his pointer finger and helped him lean forward. The doctor pressed an ice cold metal disc to his back, instructing him to breath deeply as he moved it around intermittently. Whale frowned as Gideon let out a hoarse cough (thankfully not a fit this time), and with a sigh, took the prongs out of his ears and leaned back, allowing Gideon to rest against the pillows again.

“Well, from what I can hear, it sounds like your lung is starting to clear, though not as quickly as I had hoped. But I think we can take this off now that your oxygen level has gone up.” Whale said, reaching forward and gently removing the mask from his face. Gideon let out another string of coughs, each one vibrating his chest and scratching his throat. Once the coughs had abated, Whale slipped a plastic tube under his nose, looping it around his ears and letting it hang loosely under his chin. Another stream of cool air started up his nose, forcing him to breathe.

“What’s wrong with him, Whale?” Father said, and Gideon couldn’t bear to look at him, trying not to internalize his harsh words. He knew Father didn’t mean it like it came out, but his mind couldn’t help going back to the dark place, with the Black Fairy uttering similar things over and over and over every time he failed at something.

“It appears to be a pretty rough case of pneumonia, now that I’ve had a chance to look over the results of the tests.” At that, he pulled two sheets of black paper out a folder, tacking to a white board across from his bed. Gideon really didn’t see what the point was, and even after the board lit up, the splotchy black and white images still didn’t make much sense to him. Whale circled a bright white mass near the center, saying, “This is your right lung, and that right there is a mass of fluid. Pneumonia causes the air sacs in your lungs to inflame, filling them with fluid - the stuff you were spitting up earlier. Thankfully, there’s no fluid around the outside, so a course of antibiotics should clear this right up. Though there looks to be some scarring in the left lung - I’m guessing you’ve been through this before?”

“I guess. I don’t really know.” Gideon answered shortly. “There wasn’t really medical care in the Dark Realm.”

“Don’t be difficult, Gideon.” His mother scolded, and Whale looked away, coughing awkwardly, before going back to his explanation. Gideon tuned most of it out, the language flying way above his head, only aware of Mother’s hand on his knee as she watched Whale intently.

“How did it get this bad this quickly? This can’t develop overnight.” Mother asked, and Whale looked at him questioningly.

“Is there anything you can think of that may have contributed to this, magical or otherwise?” He asked, and Gideon could feel his parent’s eyes boring into him. He swallowed thickly, looking back down towards the blanket before meeting Whale’s gaze again.

“I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I took half of a healing potion.” He answered. Whale rubbed his chin, and he could feel the disappointment radiating from his parents - he had promised them he wouldn’t use the potions anymore.

“And why would that make this worse, do you think?” Whaled asked.

“It wasn’t made with physical ailments in mind,” Father supplied, “All magic comes with a price.”

Gideon leaned back and let his eyes slip closed, another cough rattling through his chest. He had only been up an hour and already felt ready to sleep through the night. “When can I go home?” He slurred, fighting to keep his eyes open - he was just so tired, but the fear of his parents being gone when he opened his eyes overwhelmed the desire to sleep.

Father scoffed, shaking his head as he marched out of the room. Mother pressed a kiss to his forehead, muttering, “I’ll be right back, I promise,” before following his father out, and Gideon looked down to the blanket. They were angry, and they had every right to be. He had taken potions when he had promised them he wouldn’t. No wonder they wanted to leave so fast - he was weak, too weak to avoid magical intervention. They hated him now, he could feel it.

Whale, thankfully, possessed enough self-restraint to pretend he didn’t notice Gideon falling apart, looking between the monitor above his bed and the clipboard in his hand. “Your oxygen level’s improving, so you won’t need the mask anymore - the cannula should be enough. If you keep progressing the way you have been, you should be able to go home in a few days.”

“A few days?” Gideon questioned. “But I feel better already, can’t I recover at home?”

“Not unless you plan on dragging the oxygen with you.” Whale said. “Once your fever goes down some more and your lungs start clearing, I will discharge you, but not before. The best way to make that go faster is to rest and do what we tell you. Do you have any other questions?”

Gideon wanted to smack the smirk off the doctor’s face, but guessed that wouldn’t fall into his definition of  _resting_. “Can I have some water?” He asked, and the smirk on Whale’s face faded into a genuine smile.

“I’ll do you one better. If you can keep the water down for a while, I’ll send up dinner too.” He answered, and Gideon nodded, finally letting his head fall back and his eyes close. He could hear Whale puttering around, setting a glass of water near him and saying, “There will be a nurse by to check on you once a while, and I’ll be by in the morning.” Gideon nodded, letting out a weak cough, and he heard Whale repeat what he had just said to someone outside the door. Finally, the door closed, and he was plunged into near-silence, only the beeping above his head breaking the quiet.

He heard someone settle down in the chair next to him, and cracked his eyes open to see his mother sitting in the chair, her hand on his arm. Gideon looked away, out the window - he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face, the  _disdain_. “Gid, sweetheart, will you look at me?”

Hesitantly, he turned his eyes to her, only just making eye contact with her before his gaze shot down to the floor. “Where did Father go?” He asked, turning his eyes to the blanket and picking at the loose threads. He left, and Mother was going to leave to, he could feel it. He had broken their trust, their faith in him, and after that, what was left?

“He’ll be back. He just needed a coffee.” She answered, placing a warm hand on his face. He closed his eyes, tears dripping out despite his best efforts to hold them back. They were going to leave him, so why wouldn’t she just go? Why did she keep pretending like this all wouldn’t end? “Gideon, please, look at me.”

“I can’t.” He choked out, too weak to keep from turning his face into her hand, taking comfort from her thumb rubbing along his cheekbone, wiping the tears away. The words spilled out of him in a rush. “You’re going to leave me, I know it. I can’t do it, I can’t see how much I disappointed you, how much you must hate me now. I’m too weak, she was right, she was right ...” His voice cut off with a small sob, and he turned away from her, ignoring the painful tug of the tubes in his arms. The tears were coming faster and faster now, and his breath hitched on the sobs, leaving him even more breathless than before.

Mother wrapped her arms around him, rocking him gently. “Hey, hey, shh, shhh. It’s okay, sweetheart, just breathe with me.” She breathed exaggeratedly loudly, in and out, in and out, compelling him to pick up the rhythm too. His breath shuddered in and out in desperate coughs, and she rubbed his back soothingly. As soon as he got his breath back, she held the cup of water to his lips, murmuring, “Here, drink. Slowly now, that’s the way.”

Once she was satisfied, she set the cup to the side and turned back to him. “Now, you listen to me. We’re not going anywhere, either of us. We don’t hate you, Gideon, and we never will. You’re never going to be left alone, you hear me? Never.”

Mother pulled back, leaving one hand on his face, her blue eyes glistening and wet. She pushed her hands through his hair over and over again, and despite himself, he found the motion soothing as his tears tapered off. “I broke my promise.”

“We already knew.” Mother said. “We knew before we came in.” Gideon looked up, surprised but hesitant. Her eyes - god, he couldn’t even bear to look without shame overwhelming him. Her eyes were filled with so much love and compassion that it was hard to take in. She smiled, letting out a short laugh. “If you want to hide them, Gid, maybe under the bed isn’t the most … creative spot.”

He looked away, his face heating. “But … I disappointed you. Why are you here?”

“It doesn’t matter. I told you before, no matter what you do or how many mistakes you make, you can always come back.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face, her words making his chest warm. “You … you won’t leave?” Gideon asked, feeling like that small child he had been, the one who just wanted his parents back so badly.

“Not a chance.” Father said, stepping back into the room with two cups of coffee in his hands. He looked … well, not happier, but certainly calmer than he had been. Father handed one of the cups to his mother before settling down in the chair next to her, one hand on her back and the other curled around his cup. “This has happened before, hasn’t it?” Gideon looked over, eyes wide, and he clarified. “This sickness.”

Gideon swallowed thickly. “A couple times. Not this bad, though, and not since I’ve been home. I … used to get these fits when I was younger, like there was something sitting on my chest, trying to keep me from breathing. These fits … they went on and on, sometimes until I’d just pass out. Most of the time they stopped after I’d black out.” The memory came rushing back, and he haltingly explained it - being thrown outside, begging and pleading to be allowed back in, curling up under the overhang, passing out and then waking up gods-knew-how-long later in his cell with his mouth and the very air tasting of magic.

Mother had tears streaming down her cheeks, and with a quick word, excused herself and walked out, closing the door behind her. Father looked between him and the door hesitantly, and Gideon stopped, unable to bear upsetting them anymore. He swallowed and looked away, pushing the memory aside. That time was over - he was home now. Mother came back in a few seconds later, eyes rimmed red and lips thin. “Sorry, I just needed a second. What happened?”

“Involuntary magic.” Father supplied, looking to him for confirmation, and Gideon nodded.

“She took my ability to heal myself away after that.” Gideon finished, ignoring his father’s dark curse under his breath. “I grew out of those fits, I guess. I haven’t had one in years.”

Father sat back, rubbing his chin, before saying, “I’m not going to pretend I’m not upset, Gideon. You promised us those potions would remain untouched.” Gideon nodded, eyes darting back down his blanket. “But at least we understand now. Now, I want you to listen. If you’re not feeling well, please tell us. We won’t think any less of you, and we  _won’t_  abandon you. Ever. Hell, if I know your mother, she won’t leave you alone if you’re sick.”

“Thanks, Rumple.” She said sardonically, before her eyes flicked back to him, softening. “There’s nothing in the world that will make us leave you, especially not a little virus. Let’s try not to let it get this far again though, yea?”

He laughed, alarmed when it morphed into another harsh string of coughs, each one hurting his chest and throat more than the last. Gideon reached for the water once the coughs abated, swallowing it desperately, shaky fingers clenched around the cup. He groaned and curled up as his stomach cramped angrily, his arms wrapped around his torso as he wheezed.

Mother pressed a cool, wet cloth to his forehead, cooing as she wiped his face. Gideon shivered, chills racking his body. “I’m so cold.” He said, the words coming out more as a whine than a statement. She set the cloth aside and pulled the sheet higher around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep, sweetheart. We’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

His eyes drooped, and he felt ready to sleep for hours. “May I … could I ask you a favor?” He murmured, looking to his father imploringly.

“Of course, son. Anything.” Father said, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

“Can you tell me that poem you recorded for Mother?” He asked in a small, slurring voice. Father nodded, his eyes curiously shiny. Mother laid her head on Father’s shoulder, one hand reaching forward to grasp his outstretched one, careful to avoid the wires poking out from the back of it.

“Sleep well, my bairnie, sleep …” His father’s voice lulled him, and Gideon let his eyes slip closed, content that his parents would both be there when he woke again.


End file.
